Everything Ends
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Modern Warfare 2. A Shadow Company operator rises to meet the challenge of the two ex-SAS intruders at Site Hotel Bravo, finding to his dismay that the elite unit has finally met its match. Despite being hardened veterans, LTG Shepherd's ruthlessness in battle is still a shock to many of them when the General shows just how far he is willing to go to stop MacTavish and Price.
1. Chapter 1- Unauthorized Personnel

**Chapter I- Unauthorized Personnel**

* * *

Kevin Harkin, secondary of Disciple Two, stood at the cave entrance that led to the underground river, a cigarette firmly in hand. His right held his M-16; the running joke in Shadow, an outfit big on personally-chosen and specialized weapons, was that Harkin was the only guy in the unit who chose the old U.S. service rifle as his own when he could've had anything else.

Across from him, the leader of Disciple Two, Zack Camden, shifted his AN-94 in both hands. Throwing a glance at Harkin, he grouched, "Man, have you _gotta_ be standin' upwind whenever you smoke those friggin' things?"

Exhaling for a moment before he answered, Harkin said, "You smoke cigars. How can _you_ complain?"

"I can complain, motherfucker, 'cause I'm Disciple Two-Actual. I'm in charge."

Harkin shrugged. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot." Camden smirked.

Pausing for a moment, Harkin added, "What the fuck you got that Haji gun for, anyway?"

Camden glared at his second under his gray-tan helmet, only the area around his eyes visible under the black balaclavas all of them wore. In fact, their uniforms and the vast majority of their gear was black; it fit well with the dark, awe-inspiring image their CO and Shepherd wanted Shadow to project. On their left and right arms, representing active duty unit assignment and combat deployment respectively, all Shadow Company personnel wore the circular "Wreathed Spade" patch, a dark gray patch with a black spade at its center.

Its edge was ringed with words: the bottom half read "_Death Waits in the Shadows_", while the top bore the arched words "_Vigilans et Fidelis_". At the center of the spade there was a barely-visible 30, representing the 30,000 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines killed when would-be-President Al-Assad detonated a nuclear weapon in Wadiya's capitol, destroying the city and everyone within range. The 30 represented one of Shadow Company's most solemn vows, a goal closely relevant to their willingness to follow General Shepherd.

It could be summed up thus: "Never Again".

It had been foolish and stupid of the American people to allow themselves to ignore the threat Al-Assad represented, and then to effectively dismiss the thousands he killed for the sake of an earlier return to peace. So they could return to "the way things were". The men of Shadow intended to see to it that the _one time_ their country was caught so woefully unprepared this decade was the _only_ time it happened for the next century. Pearl Harbor, 9/11, and then the 30,000. Those three were _more_ than enough, and on Shadow Company's watch there would be no more. _None_.

"It's not a Haji gun," Camden said, visibly irritated. "It's Russian. Best fuckin' Russki AR on the market."

"Well, what's the difference? Hajis use Russian guns, lots of 'em."

Camden glared again, not liking the attachment of the word "Haji" to his favourite assault rifle. "The difference is this fucker will jam if you get it dirty. It's made to be precise; you need skill to use one."

He considered. "And besides, I like the shit the ragheads use. AK's, RPD's, SVD's- they all _work_ out here. Sand doesn't bother 'em for shit while we're always cleaning our guns. Remember that, the guns these towel-heads are using? A bunch of guys in pajamas didn't do so bad with 'em in Vietnam, either. You gotta respect the Haji guns."

Harkin considered for all that, standing silent and scanning the open area ahead of him with the steady, unremitting vigilance of all Shadow Company operators. Site Hotel Bravo was a series of inter-connected caves, all set right against the side of a mountain with landing sites for helicopters, ammunition and ordnance storage depots, and a full headquarters for area operations.

Behind Harkin and Camden was the tunnel that lead down to a dock, built for routine- or emergency- use by headquarters personnel. The underground river the dock led to went on for a long way, going above the surface after a short time. If anybody needed to make a quick exit from HQ, this would be place they'd go.

Shadow Company HQ was some 200 yards away, across the clearing, past a net-camouflaged mass of ammunition and weapons crates, and through another tunnel entrance. Shepherd was in there right now, working out details with Black Skull- callsign for Shadow's burly, no-nonsense CO- for whatever Shadow's next mission was gonna be.

Just as Harkin started to say something, the radio's in both their helmets spat static, followed by the chief radio operator for Shadow. "Disciple Two-Oxide, what's your status, over?"

Camden answered promptly, his voice calm. "Oxide, we're on-site outside Sector Uniform Romeo, watching and waiting, over."

"Disciple Two, have you been having any comms problems? We've lost all contact with Disciple Five and Black Skull thinks it might be a bad transmitter, or that sandstorm blowing our way, over."

Camden considered that, looking around at his team, some twelve men plus himself scattered around the clearing, two patrolling back and forth along the cliff-edge. Radio chatter came and went between them regularly; there couldn't have been any technical problems, not with Camden's unit. It was ironic; the one time HQ asked about communications like they gave a shit, Disciple Two at least wasn't having any.

"Negative, Oxide. We're all green here."

The comms chief's voice came back stern, wary- like he suspected something was wrong, but couldn't yet prove it. "Stay frosty, Disciple Two. Oxide out."

Harkin looked at his team leader oddly, the previous mood of banter-and-bullshit gone like it had never been there at all. "You want us to go safeties-off, boss?"

After considering that for a moment, Camden nodded. "Do it."

Keying his own headset, Harkin said, "All Disciple Two India's, safeties off. Stay frosty."

He turned to Camden. "Done, boss."

Pleased in spite of himself, Camden smiled a little. "That's why you're my number two."

Just as Harkin was about to say something witty, the radio operator in the headquarters cave came back on. His voice was now gripped with a terrible urgency, and instantly Camden knew something was up.

"Break, break!" Oxide called, then went on, "All units, all units, we have a security breach! Disciples Four and Five are down; I am dispatching Six to the steam room. All units, safeties off. Shoot unauthorized personnel on sight!"

That got them going. Instantly, every man in Disciple Two went passive on the comms after a few shouted commands from Camden, who had another man take his place at the river-tunnel entrance and began moving around the clearing, checking every one of his men and ensuring they were all on full alert. Whatever was going on, it was no drill- Oxide never reported two whole teams down, which almost certainly meant they were dead. You didn't drop out of contact wounded or captured in Shadow Company; you never were late for anything. If a Shadow man was absent or late to anything, it was because he was dead.

Oxide suddenly snapped on the comm; "Disciple Six- go dark! Breach and clear!"

A moment later, Raam's voice came on; "Breaching, breaching!"

Distantly, Camden could hear the sound of an explosion on the radio as Disciple Six stacked up, set a door charge, blew it and went sweeping into the darkened steam room. Camden suddenly felt adrenaline starting to surge through him. Men were going to die today, perhaps a lot of them.

Following that thought, a surge of anger- whoever was killing Zack Camden's Shadow Company brothers, he apparently had a _hell_ of a lot more guts than brains. If he had any sense now, he'd turn around and run, and never stop running as long as he had breath in his body.

Disciple Six's team leader was nicknamed "Butcher" for no idle reason. And, for that matter, all of Shadow Company had _not_ earned their reputation for lethal efficiency by being nice guys on the job. If they captured the one- or ones- responsible for this intrusion alive… they'd spend a long time wishing they were dead before death finally came for them.


	2. Chapter 2- Vigilans et Fidelis

**Chapter II- Semper Vigilans**

* * *

The next few minutes shot by at blinding speed, as the entire base of Site Hotel Bravo went on full combat alert. Air support- everything that Shadow Company had access to- was called for, and Camden hurried up towards the back entrance to HQ as Butcher Five moved in as well.

Gesturing to a few of his men, Camden shouted, "Come on! Get me claymores! Every stack of those fuckers you can find; we're gonna need 'em!"

"Boss," Harkin asked as he hurried over, "Is this for real or am I losin' my shit?"

The confusion of some personnel, even in an elite, rapidly-adapting unit like Shadow, was understandable. Nobody had ever attacked Site Hotel Bravo before; even the insurgents in the region seemed afraid of it- those few who even knew it was there. The battles the Taliban had endured with Shadow Company over the past few years had been enough to make even _those_ fanatics think twice. And everyone in the region _had_ to know what Black Skull had ordered done when the cave system's _original_ occupants had been evicted…

So with all that in mind- who would be insane enough to attack Site Hotel Bravo now? Who would be mad enough to even try it, period?

Camden just shook his head; from the pounding adrenaline alone he knew this had to be the real thing. "It's real, all right," he said, then raised his voice and called to his team as they started taking cover near HQ's rear entrance. "Whatever's going on out there, boys, get ready! Sounds like it's headed our way!"

The men of Disciple Two listened with slowly dawning horror as not only Disciple Six-Actual- whose last words on the radio were "They're here! Open fire!"- dropped out of contact, but Disciple Nine lost their rearguard just as suddenly. Remembering his own patrols throughout the mountain base, Camden recalled that the rearguard was usually positioned towards the end of the catwalk, just outside the steam room. He must have been backing up the breach-and-clear move by Disciple Six. And if _he_ was gone… that meant they were on the catwalk. That far at least.

Zack Camden wanted to scream; he wanted to tear off his helmet and just howl at the sky like a madman. Here he was, sitting on his ass planting claymores outside HQ, while on the other side of the base a pair of psychos were killing his friends.

On the radio, Oxide's voice blared. "Disciple Nine, your rearguard just flatlined!"

Disbelieving, Disciple Nine's team leader scoffed. "That's impossible; we just cleared that area. _No_body's _that_ g-"

Shepherd's voice suddenly came on the radio, grim and certain: "It's Price."

_Oh, shit._

"Backup the essential files, burn the rest; I want us ready to go in five mikes."

Butcher Five-Actual passed Camden's team as if they weren't there, hurrying his men into the HQ cave with an armload of C4 and detonation equipment. Camden stood back among the weapons crates, surveying the fields of fire his men had set up, as well as the positioning of the field of twenty claymores.

Suddenly, a horrifying possibility occurred to Zack Camden. He keyed his headset. "Oxide, Disciple Two-Actual."

Harried and clearly in the middle of something, Oxide answered, "Oxide, send traffic, Disciple Two."

Speaking quickly, Camden said, "I have a field of claymores set up and my team ready to fire on any hostiles that make it through to our position. Be advised, you will need to escort Gold Eagle in a wide left around the claymores, out."

Shepherd answered instead, "You're a good man, Disciple Two. Gold Eagle out."

The radio chatter kept up for the next five minutes or so, increasing in volume, frequency and even taking on a sense of desperation as the men of Shadow Company battled to hold back the intruders. Astonishment became clear in some of the team leaders' voices; none of them had ever seen anyone this good. The skill of the intruders became clear as more and more teams dropped out of contact; by now no one even bothered questioning why or attempting to reestablish contact with them. The fighting was fast, furious, and brutal and absolutely unforgiving; if you stopped talking to your comrades, you were dead. Plain and simple.

Camden called out to his men suddenly, "Hold fire, team! Hold fire! Gold Eagle's coming out!"

The men of Disciple Two kept their weapons up, aiming them downrange with hard eyes, but not a shot was fired by any of the thirteen guns aimed at the cave entrance as Lieutenant General Shepherd came hurrying out, the only man in ACU's and- for some reason- a beret and no Kevlar or heavy combat gear. He was dressed like he would have been at Fort Lee or someplace back in the states; just a general going to work at 1745. It was unthinkable arrogance, but then, that was Shepherd. He seemed to know he lived a charmed life- and certainly, he knew that Shadow Company would die before letting Price or MacTavish get near him. If either SAS man got past the best soldiers the US Army possessed, these hand-picked elite of the elite, Shepherd wouldn't need Kevlar. He'd need divine intervention.

Butcher Six's men clustered around Shepherd, sprinting left around the claymore field on the slope coming down from the HQ cave exit. Shepherd kept up easily, surprising a few; not all the men quite believed that a Lieutenant General, even Shepherd, could keep up with them in the combat zone. But Shepherd was a man full of surprises; that was how he had stayed alive all this time.

Disciple Five's leader's voice came on the radio, clearly fighting to keep calm under monstrous pressure as a furious gun battle went on in the caves just ahead of his position. Butcher Two had just rappelled down into Sector Papa Quebec, which went right up to HQ's front door. From the sound of things, they weren't doing well.

"Oxide, Disciple Five-Actual. I got a severed det cord; it's gonna take me ten mikes to get the charges rigged and the EBC primed, over."

Oxide had fled the cave with Shepherd, taking his field radio, and answered flatly, "_Negative_, Disciple Five. Gold Eagle wants those charges hot in less than three mikes. _Get it done_, over."

A moment later, an explosion came from inside the HQ cave; it sounded like a breaching charge. Shouts of surprise and anger and flurries of gunfire followed; abruptly, Shepherd's voice came on the radio, solemn but decisive as always.

"To all Disciple Five members, this site has been compromised. I am enacting manual detonation of the emergency charges from my position. If you are still inside, your service will be honoured. Gold Eagle out."

"Stand by, everybody!" Camden screamed. "This is it!"

A moment later, an apocalyptic blast tore through Site Hotel Bravo HQ, collapsing the cave and dropping over a ton of rock down on it. Dust and smoke billowed out from every possible exit, making the men of Disciple Two thankful they had their balaclavas on; the constant dust and sand being blown around in these mountains meant a cloth of some kind was nearly always needed to filter the air one was breathing. This was far more than that, and the men of Disciple Two nonetheless choked and coughed as the cloud of smoky-dust hit them.

"Stay frosty!" Camden yelled on his radio.

"Contact, contact!" the point-man, Jason Davis, nicknamed "Vampire" shouted, and abruptly Camden caught sight of two figures coming out of the cave. Righteous, blinding anger filled Camden, as well as a kind of elated joy; these two idiots were playing right into his hands. He would have his revenge. All of Shadow Company would because he, Zack Camden, knew his shit. Plain and simple.

Raising his voice over the few weapons already firing, Camden roared, "_Light 'em up_!"

Camden moved closer to his team's forward position, ultimately crouching behind the forward-most storage crate and taking shot after shot with his AN-94 and its wonderfully-accurate two-round burst setting. "Drop 'em, shift fire and aim for head or chest shots!" Camden called, tossing aside a spent magazine. Grabbing Davis, he pointed up at the Humvee near them. "Get your ass up on that fifty cal!"

Davis scrambled to his feet and threw open the parked Humvee's driver door. He got his hands on the Humvee's turret-mounted machine gun as Oxide yelled over the noise, "Hold your ground, Disciple Two- I say again, _do not retreat_! We have air-assault reinforcements on the way, ETA two mikes!"

Keying his radio as he took cover to reload, Camden answered, "Disciple Two-Actual copies all, Oxide! No retreat!" A moment later he resumed shooting.

The two men in the caves were indeed very good; they were under such heavy fire from Camden's team that they could get few shots off, but none of Disciple Two's fire seemed to hit them, either. It was getting to almost be a stalemate, and Camden was about to order his men to counter-assault into the caves when he realised his radio had been chattering for the last few moments. He ducked down again, pressing one helmet speaker close.

He heard Excalibur, Shadow Company's immediate field artillery operator, answering, "Roger, Gold Eagle. Fire mission, danger close!"

The two men in the cave must have been able to tap Shadow's comms somehow, because they abruptly vanished inside the cave.

"Boss," one of Camden's men called, "Did HQ just-"

Camden looked up in horror as he heard the whistling roar of incoming artillery fire. "GET DOWN!" he screamed, so loud it made his throat hurt. He dove for cover just as the artillery slammed down; the entire world seemed to catch fire, explode and burn all in one instant. The ground shook like it was Judgement Day, and Camden suddenly realised with horror that Davis was still up on the turret. He leapt up, staggering on his feet, and climbed to the roof of the Humvee.

In one instant, Zack Camden saw with dawning horror that Davis had taken a sliver of steel- and not a tiny one, either- right in the neck and was slumped over the .50 cal, painting the Humvee's roof a much darker colour. Then, in a half-second's time Camden turned his head and noticed just where he was. He leaped back off the Humvee, but was not fast enough.

A blast of shrapnel from the exploding claymores tore through his Kevlar as he fell, hitting the ground and blacking out.


	3. Chapter 3- Fire Mission: Danger Close

**Chapter III- Fire Mission: Danger Close**

* * *

Zack Camden opened his eyes, blinking hard and struggling to rise. He found immediately that the effort pained him; every inch of his body seemed to be screaming, screaming, screaming. His head pounded, and his stomach- pain rippled through his middle when he coughed, took in air to yell, or even moved. Camden shouted but could barely hear his own words; he struggled to get up but found he couldn't; he just swayed like a toddler, fell forward and gave up the effort, resorting to crawling along on all fours like a drunk.

Where was everybody? Camden looked around as he struggled forward, but couldn't- no, there they were.

Disciple Two had been completely wiped out. Camden could see his men, lying around where they'd been waiting to stop the intruders- including ex-SAS Captain John Price. A few men were still moving; crawling, like he was, or stumbling around, unable to see.

Camden knew he had to get up. He had to rise; he had to keep fighting! He couldn't see his rifle; the AN-94 had been torn from his hands in the volley of explosions he'd been lucky to even survive. Camden had a feeling, though, that he might not have survived the shelling by much; all that pain in his body had to come from somewhere.

The leader of Disciple Two- or what had _been_ Disciple Two- struggled forward, forcing himself along through sheer willpower. He spotted two men running out of the cave ahead- it was them! Price and the other man, MacTavish! Camden recognized both of them. Clearly, they'd escaped the impact of the artillery barrage; Camden felt a rush of anger and disgust; his own men had just had friendly fire brought down on their heads, and for nothing.

The two British commandos were rushing outside, taking no notice of the shocked, dying men of Disciple Two- who, Camden noticed with dismay, were more and more not moving. They were just like him; superhuman effort of will compelled them to rise, discipline screamed at them to get up and fight, to fight on no matter what- but the limits of flesh would not allow. Camden had a feeling, dulled as his thinking was, that _his_ time was limited just the same.

After crawling maybe twelve feet, Zack Camden gave up the effort. Had he been looking down, he might have noticed he'd been leaving a surprisingly dark trail of blood behind him. Stunned from the explosions and almost completely deaf, Zack had next to no idea of how bad his injuries were. The blast of steel rain from his own team's claymores had caught him full in the stomach, and shrapnel had pierced his armor or hit areas where there was no armor at all. Finally, Zack Camden just stopped in front of a tall stack of drab steel containers; the labels said they were .50 cal ammo boxes. Either empty or somehow not detonated by the barrage; Camden pulled himself up to a sitting position, not really giving a damn.

He tried his radio; it was out. Of course it was out. Nobody would be coming for him anyway; no one had come for any of his comrades who had fallen in the desperate battles through the caves before. There was no one to send- Shadow Company was pressing itself beyond its own limits here. The losses taken in the U.S. Aircraft Disposal Site the same day as the disposal of the last few 141 men in Georgia at Makarov's safehouse had been pretty bad. Now, with the losses they'd taken today… Zack Camden didn't like the thought that came to him. With the rate they'd been losing men lately, pretty soon there wouldn't _be_ a Shadow Company.

_But we'll die proud_, Zack thought, and found that brought him some contentment. _We'll die proud. We never gave up, not at anything_.

Not that it mattered.

As he lay with his back against the crate, clutching his torn middle and moaning, Zack swore out loud. "I want to _live_, Goddamnit! I wanna _live_! It's the fucking _nobodies_ who do the dying!"

A few fuel barrels exploded somewhere else in the yard; over the noise nobody heard him. Zack Camden noticed, though, that one of the two British commandos- the one with the Mohawk, nicknamed 'Soap'- was taking cover right beside him, using the piles of boxes and crates for cover as he aimed his rifle downrange. Distantly- though the man was probably only a few feet away- Zack could hear Captain Price, shouting something.

The fire burning in his stomach, especially, was now so agonizing Zack could barely see- at moments the pain threatened to white out his vision. But he took a breath, and with some clarity looked up at the SAS captain, reaching over and grabbing at the man's camouflage trousers. With some surprise he glanced down; no doubt MacTavish had assumed Zack was dying- or dead.

_Maybe he's right_, Zack thought. _Or he will be soon enough_.

But that didn't matter. In so much pain he could barely think, and starting to recognize he was too badly injured to fight, Zack just clutched MacTavish's right leg, looking up and grinning crazily.

In the distance, closing fast, Zack could hear the whap-whap-whap of an MD-500 and one of Shadow Company's specialized Black Hawks. His brothers, coming back to the fight. They'd counterattack; _they'd_ do the job right. Price and MacTavish were good- damn good. _Too_ good. But Shadow Company's boys would kill them soon. Zack knew this- knew his brothers would fight on and avenge him, and it went without saying that General Shepherd would be escorted safely away. He was probably miles off already; the SAS men were fools to even come here.

As Shadow Company's reinforcements closed in, Zack prayed for his brothers' ultimate victory- and that his little brother, back home, would forgive him for not keeping his promise. Zack had promised he would stay safe, and that he'd return to go surfing with Sam once he finished his third- and final- tour.

_I promised, bro_, Zack thought bitterly. _I hope you'll know I tried like hell to keep it_.

Zack Camden gripped the SAS man's leg one more time, tugging at him until he once again glance down.

Under the black mesh of the balaclava, Zack struggled to speak, finding he barely had the strength. He tried once, twice. At last he made it.

"You're _all_ gonna _die_ out there," Zack Camden said, then laughed weakly, as if he was very tired but had just told the funniest joke in the world. It hurt to laugh, but Zack had to. Somehow, this was just hilarious. Two-thousand-and-sixteen years of recorded human history, and here they were, still killing each other.

Zack's sides ached. _Hurts when I laugh_, he thought vaguely. _Hurts…_

His mind, growing vague and distracted as if through a fog or haze, seemed determined to make his last moments hell. It showed Zack nightmare visions of a hundred BTR's charging ashore at Myrtle Beach, shooting up houses like they were full of confetti, and a thousand Russian paratroopers dropping in from above, all of them ready to gut Sam with their bayonets and laugh even as he writhed, screaming in agony…

But then, the beam of a lighthouse through the rain and haze of a storm, Zack counterattacked in those last moments, rejecting those images of hell and planting a firmer one in his mind. He managed to from one last coherent thought: one of confidence, knowing he had taught Sam well.

_Sam can take care of himself._

That was really just as well, because from now on he was gonna have to.

Zack Camden noticed that MacTavish was no longer near him; he'd broken Zack's weak grip and moved away, and the Shadow Company operator could hear the sound of gunfire as his Shadow brothers began their counterattack.

There! No longer thinking but only acting, his thoughts reduced to moment-by-moment, basic, animal impulses, Zack reached up onto his vest and pulled out his combat knife. He could see the two SAS men a few feet away, taking cover and quite unaware anyone behind them was even still alive. Occasionally they jumped up to fire, but never did they notice Zack.

_Kill._

Zack went prone again, clenching his teeth against the rolling agony that came as he started to move. He crawled, trailing blood behind him, the M9 bayonet clutched firmly in his right hand. Zack Camden made it perhaps two more feet, his eyes locked on the two SAS men who were single-handedly destroying Shadow Company. Those sons of bitches, his worst enemies in the world- MacTavish and Price. Zack crawled, completely refusing to surrender to the inevitable even now. He neither knew nor cared about the severity of his wounds, refused to accept the truth- that he was finished, and had not the strength left to even _crawl five feet_ and stab _one_, let alone _two_ men.

Finally, though, Zack Camden seemed to notice something. He glanced behind him and was immediately surprised to see the trail of dark red- leading away from the Humvee and towards the .50 cal crates, then away from there and towards him. Was all that… _blood_? _His_ blood?

Zack looked back and forth between the two trails of blood for a moment, amazed at how their dark imprint stood out on the tan Afghani sand. For a moment there was an almost comical look of surprise on Zack's face as he touched a dark glove to his stomach and saw it come away wet. He fell backwards, staring up at the sky- it was a beautiful day. His chest hitched once, twice.

Then he was still.


End file.
